she’s lodged and stuck within his brain –
he cannot get out her out –
he knows it’s madness – folly – and
he curses at the day that he was born —

he runs at 4 am, and tries to sweat her out,
to breathe her gone,
but still she’s there, in elegance,
a brand that burns into his head,
a fire blazing in the night,
unwanted thoughts in daytime, and
a hopeless sort of sadness when he’s driving

for he’s known what it is to touch
and feel and be a part, to be as one,
then be apart again – as she in coldness
lapses into feeling her non-feelings

and he would take on anyone who might be there
to drive her out, her maddening indifference –
but she won’t go
she’s lodged

and love has made of him
a fool

Author: Sibelius Russell

Sibelius Russell (a/k/a/ Owen "Beleaguered" Servant) lives a life of whimsical servitude -- whatever that means.

3 thoughts on “lodged”

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